X Men First Class One Shots
by Eosophobia-3
Summary: Based on the first class comics : Some one-shots about the students at the school, everyday happenings and big battles... enjoy!


**Hi guys! I'm starting yet another story (well, one-shots) because I'm just useless like that… I promise to try and finish some of my others too but its just so hard to stop myself starting on new ideas O_O… anyway, this one's based on the X Men First Class comics (which are awesome by the way!) and I'm not really sure about the order in which the mutants arrived at the mansion so I do apologise if I got it wrong… Gah! This was a long introduction haha, let's just get on with the stories!**

**X Men First Class**

**School Daze**

**Chapter One: Plucked**

The large stately home that was standing in front of Warren was certainly impressive; to some people it might have even seemed grand, but it was little more than a holiday home to the heir of the multibillion dollar Worthington Industries. Of course he wouldn't have even been standing there in the grounds of the huge house if it wasn't for the strange voice he'd been hearing recently. At first he'd thought he was going mad, perhaps finally losing his mind due to his rare 'condition', then he'd thought that maybe it was the voice of God (he'd laughed at the irony of this thought) but when the voice had given him specific directions and guided him to this strange place he'd eventually realised that the voice must belong to someone with the same _infliction_ as himself.

Warren stood in the doorway to the large mansion holding a suitcase in his left hand while he used his right to pull his long brown coat tighter around himself as he suddenly felt extremely exposed and vulnerable. He didn't even know why he'd listened to that weird voice in the first place; before making the short journey to the mansion he'd been helping people in the cities, using his 'gift' as a symbol of hope and peace. However, the more he helped people the more he understood that they were beyond help. No matter how much Warren saved people and helped them there would always be more to save and when the people had started to turn against him because of his differences he'd started to think that he was doing more harm than good.

Before he was completely lost in his memories the large oak door of the mansion swung open violently and a large guy with dark hair came bounding out, using his arms to swing through the doorway like an ape. Warren stepped out of the way quickly as another young man, around the same age as Warren and wearing fetching red shades, sprinted through the door after the ape-man. Warren blinked rapidly after the odd pair and then his attention was turned back to the open door. He could see the interior of the mansion through the doorway; a large foyer with a polished wooden floor and a wide staircase with a thick burgundy carpet. A bust of a bald man with a strong nose sat atop a large wooden pillar and it seemed to stare at Warren as he stood in the autumn breeze. The _things_ on his back shuddered slightly under the scrutinizing gaze of the marble head.

"You must be Warren." A beautiful young girl with deep red hair and a wide grin was suddenly standing between Warren and the bald-headed bust and he stumbled backwards, a little shocked. "Am I wrong?" the redhead tipped her head to one side for a moment and then shook it vigorously, "Nope, that's you," she smiled openly and Warren felt himself relax slightly.

"Y- Yes," he held out his hand and straightened his shoulders, "Warren Worthington the third," the girl shook his hand whilst trying to hold back her smile,

"I'm Jean. Nice to finally meet you."

"'Finally'?" Warren blond eyebrows knitted together and he took his hand back a little too quickly. Jean just continued smiling and gestured for him to come inside.

He stepped into the foyer which smelt of wood varnish and something sweet, cake maybe, whilst Jean led the way through one corridor after another. Warren was starting to think that maybe they were going round in circles when Jean finally stopped walking and pointed to a door to their right,

"The Professor's in there."

Warren looked at her blankly, "The Professor?"

Again Jean simply smiled and gave him a little push into the room. Warren gripped his suitcase a little tighter and entered slowly. The room was panelled from floor to ceiling with the same dark wood as the flooring; the walls had several paintings of important looking men and women on them, each with eyes as piercing as the bust in the foyer. Sitting behind a large wooden desk strewn with dusty books and papers was the bust himself, or rather the man it had been sculpted to look like. He wasn't as old as the bust had made him to look, maybe fifty at the most, but he certainly _was _as bald. He smiled warmly when he saw Warren and gestured for the younger man to sit in the large leather chair opposite him. Warren sat obediently as the Professor intertwined his fingers and rested his elbows on the desk,

"My name is Charles Xavier. I am a mutant like yourself, Warren, and I invited you here to become a part of my team because I think that you have a wonderful gift," the man's British tones were strong but not forceful and Warren felt himself leaning forward with every word he spoke.

"So you're a mutant?" Warren asked as he leaned a little further towards the desk.

"Yes. That's how I was able to communicate with you. My telepathy allows me to see into people's minds and talk to them if necessary," his eyes suddenly widened and he rubbed the back of his neck as though embarrassed, "I'm sorry, you must be uncomfortable sitting like that." Warren realised he was literally sitting on the edge of his seat and abruptly leant back, wincing as his extra appendages pressed against the back of the chair. The Professor shook his head, "No, I didn't mean… I thought you must be uncomfortable with them tied back like that, I know it hurts you when they're bound."

Warren's hand wrapped across his body involuntarily as he touched the back of his long coat. He hadn't told this man about his mutation but somehow he knew. He even knew that it hurt to bind himself like he did.

"Warren," the Professor continued, "There is no need to be ashamed; your mutation is a gift, something that should be used for good and celebrated. You can use it openly here without any need to worry."

"I tried to help people before I came here," Warren lowered his head, "It seems that the people soon learn that the ones they want to fight are _us,_ not each other."

"That may be the case but it shouldn't stop us wanting to help them. That is what I teach here at the mansion," the older man's lips suddenly pulled into a smile, "Well, that and _other_ things. And I would be extremely pleased if you would choose to stay with us, at least for a while."

"Well I've got nothing better to do," Warren grabbed his suitcase and got to his feet, "I think I can stay for a little while, see what you have to offer."

Warren's room was a good deal smaller than his room at home but large enough to stretch himself out completely. As soon as he'd locked the door he'd taken off his coat and quickly untied the thick rope that bound his wings together. Wings. It wasn't a word that he liked to think of too often, after all a man with wings wasn't a normal occurrence, at least as far as he knew. He stretched them out now to their full span; a whooshing sound whipped through the air as he spread them wide and a few pure white feathers fluttered onto the lush green carpet. He sighed loudly; the feeling of restriction was gone and he immediately felt more free with them exposed. Warren could feel the muscles in his back twitch to compensate for the extra weight that no other man had to deal with and his right wing twitched slightly as the tips of his feathers brushed against the wall.

When his wings had first started to grow in his early teens Warren had been amazed and a little scared at how sensitive they were. He could feel every little thing they touched and it was painful when they were pulled or plucked. One day when he was fifteen he had gotten lost in the woods and a group of wolves had found him. They'd pulled on his exposed wings and torn some of his feathers out roughly, he'd screamed with the pain and hadn't stopped screaming for a full three hours. Sometimes he wondered if he would be better of not having any feeling in them whatsoever but then he would think about it and shudder. They were as much a part of him as an arm or a leg, maybe even _more_, and the thought of not being able to feel them left him feeling sick.

A knock on the door made Warren spin quickly and his extended wings knocked over the lamp on his bedside table, sending it smashing to the floor.

"Ah, crap!"

"Warren? Are you okay?" It was Jean. She knocked again on the door and when Warren didn't respond she opened it in one swift movement. "Oh my…" Jean's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened at the sight in front of her. Warren immediately folded his wings behind his back in a weak attempt to hide them and flushed a deep crimson,

"What are you doing in here? I thought I'd locked the door!"

Jean bit her bottom lip and responded without moving her eyes from the young man's wings, "I came to tell you that dinner's ready and I opened the lock telekinetically." When Warren stared blankly back at her she continued, "My mutation is much like the Professor's except I can use mine to move objects too." As if to reiterate her point Jean looked towards the smashed lamp and the pieces of it suddenly floated into the air and dropped one by one into the trash can in the corner of the room.

"Handy," Warren whispered.

"But not as beautiful as yours," Jean reached out her hand to touch a wing but Warren stepped back.

"I'll be down in a minute, I've just got to find my coat."

Jean clicked her tongue and grabbed Warren's arm, dragging him out of the room and into the corridor, "You don't need your coat, it's just the dining room." Warren tugged against the redhead's grip but she held tight and continued to walk. His wings seemed extremely out of place in the smartly decorated corridors and by the time they reached the dining room Warren was sweating from the effort of having to keep them folded behind his back.

The other two students were already gathered around the large dining table; the large guy was shovelling a chicken leg into his mouth whilst the smooth operator with the sunglasses pulled out a chair for Jean. When he'd made sure that Jean was definitely going to sit beside him the skinny guy with the shades held out his hand to shake Warren's,

"Scott Summers, nice to meet you."

Warren shook Scott's hand, amazed by the fact that he wasn't staring at his wings; the guy had obviously seen more shocking things than a half-man half-bird in his time with the Professor.

The other guy, who seemed even bigger when he stood up straight, had stopped shovelling and had proceeded to walk around Warren as though examining a new species of fauna. Warren swallowed loudly and tried to turn to face the big fellow.

"Tyto alba," he held one of Warren's feather's between his thumb and forefinger with a touch much more gentle than Warren expected, "The barn owl."

"Excuse me?" Warren pulled his wing away briskly, causing Jean's hair to blow around her face.

"Oh, I do apologise if I offended you, I was simply making a comparison," the large student held out his hand and Warren shook it reluctantly, "Henry McCoy, everyone calls me Hank. I must say you are a fascinating speci-"

"-Hank!" Scott glared at him through his ruby specs and Hank bit his bottom lip to stop anymore words escaping. He returned to his seat and silently continued devouring the chicken.

Warren sat beside Hank, opposite Jean and Scott, and spooned some mashed potato onto his plate as Scott tried to make conversation,

"So, Warren… Wings…" Jean turned to Scott with a look of disbelief etched onto her face and Warren couldn't help but smile at Scott's weak attempt to abate the silence.

"Yeah," Warren scooped up some potato and pointed it at Scott, "And you, err, shades…"

Scott laughed and nodded, "Yeah, they keep my eyes in check."

Warren had no idea what that meant but decided not to ask and instead opted to try some of the chicken that Hank seemed to be consuming at inhuman speeds. As he looked around the table Warren realised that he was no longer alone; he certainly wasn't the strangest person in the room and he felt that he would become good friends with the people sitting in the dining room.

A man with wings wasn't something to be feared and Warren knew that; now it was time for him to show the world that he wasn't the devil come to take their freedom, he was someone who could show them freedom, someone who could use his abilities to help the world, a saviour if you will, an angel.

**Thanks for reading!**

**More little stories soon :D**


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